Innocence
by FreakingZebra
Summary: It was all because of that stupid dog, England thought bitterly. It wasn't fair that it had to happen to him. He was a nation, and not that he'd admit it often, but he was scared too. He didn't want to become a monster. Eventual UsUk, Werewolf!England


**The idea of England being a werewolf against his own will seems like an interesting idea for a story, and although my writing can be very dull in most places, I hope you enjoy this story! Should update fairly soon, but then again I say that about all my stories so if I take forever, don't be afraid to threaten me to update! It's a habit I need to get out of. **

** Anyway, on with the first chappie!~**

* * *

Meetings weren't meant to carry on into the night. That should've been fairly obvious, England thought bitterly as Germany still continued to talk despite the time on the clock. He tapped his foot impatiently with his face buried in his arms - an attempt to relieve himself of the rising nauseous. He hadn't been feeling well all day, but being the stubborn man he was he hadn't gone back to his home to hide away, but decided rather stupidly to remain at the meeting and deal with it. It was a decision he admitted now hadn't been a very good idea.

He gritted his teeth in frustration as he head continued to pound, America still prodding him in the side with a straw which England was surprised he hadn't killed him for yet. England did seem to feel he was in one of those moods where he was ready to kill pretty much anyone. It was Americas stupid fault anyway that he was feeling so crap, he'd been feeling unwell since one of Americas dogs had bitten him last night when he'd stayed over. It clearly hadn't been trained, and the damn thing was probably infected - and although part of him admired America for picking up stray dogs and giving them a home, the other part of him told him it was probably better for the dogs and everyone else if they went somewhere else. Somewhere very far away from America...like Africa, for example.

He raised his head slightly as he felt a small tap on his shoulder, the blurry image of a small group of fairies flying into view. He frowned at them.

"What's wrong now?" he hissed, not in the mood to be talking with anyone. One fairy flew over and began to try and tug at his sleeve, crying out desperately for him to run.

"England!" another called out. "You need to get away from here! Go to the woods!" she panicked, as England lazily swatted then away.

"You know I'm not feeling well just leave me alone." he muttered, glaring at any of the nations who dared to give him an odd look. The fairies didn't falter their panic and continued to try and drag him out.

"You don't understand England! You have to get away! You can't stay here just go!"

England closed his eyes to block out their worried faces, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them in a foetal position. He just wanted the bloody sickness to go away and for that stupid American next to him to just leave him around. He growled darkly underneath his breath as the consistent poking of the straw refused to let him be.

"Iggy~ Come on wake up!~" his continuous calls and pokes became more and more persistent, and England could feel a deep sense of anger rising up in throat as he growled a little louder. When America refused to acknowledge the others pissed of state, England turned round and growled loudly at him - a loud, almost animalistic growl - knocking their glasses of water onto the floor and leaving deep gashes along the tables surface. Everyone in the room silenced. England kept his gaze on America, panting heavily as if he was about pounce - before assessing the situation and, eyes widening in fear, he fled from the room.

The rest of the G20 nations stared in shock at the broken glass and deep claw marks on the table. Murmurs were passed round the table, such as "is he alright?", "did he just growl?", and "shouldn't someone go after him?" A few eyes turned to Germany, expecting some sort of explanation or order to follow out. The Germanic nation sighed and lowered his head, looking at the notes he still had before him. He trusted England well enough to come back in his own time, but then again...

"If he doesn't return in an hour, we will search for him. Ok?" he ordered, and - no one wanting to argue with him - they nodded slowly, and the meeting began once more as if nothing had happened, though everyone was a lot quieter.

* * *

England sprinted out the meeting hall desperately, ignoring the shouts of the guards - calling back "I'll just be a minute!" - and running out into the cool dark night air. He paused briefly, eyes landing on the small forest the fairies were pointing at, and began to run again, trying to get as far away from civilisation as he could.

He was scared. He didn't understand what was going on, but while his heart told him to turn back to the others, his head and feet were betraying that idea and dragged him deeper into the woods. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to fall as the fairies that dared follow him apologised repeatedly, telling him to keep on running.

A sudden sharp pain brought him to a halt, falling suddenly to his knees. It felt as if a flame was being run up and down his oil soaked skin, burning and devouring his flesh. His hand shakily sought out a clump of grass to wrap his hand round, clinging onto it tightly as he continued to wither and tremble in pain.

He searched around desperately for his magical friends, like a lost child searching for its mother, but all sign of them had been lost as the pain intensified further, a quiet sob escaping from his lips.

"Please..." he pleaded. "I'm...scared, I don't know what's happening!" he yelled into the stillness of the forest, tears streaming down his face as he gave up all hope of holding them back. He chest began to burn, his short breaths turning in laborious heaving as he coughed something rising up his throat onto the ground, realising it to be dark and sticky blood. His legs and arms gave way as he fell onto his side, thrashing about in a wild terror - screaming till his throat was raw and all he could do was open and shut it hoping sound would come out. His spine and joints in his legs seemed to be cracking and stretching, burning horrifically, and when he looked down at his pale hands he saw sharp, long claws grow from his fingertips. He cried out in terror, light bloodied fur silently creeping up his back and crawling around his neck as his body began to reshape into the new monster that was forming. England's bright green eyes looked up hopefully towards the ever darkening sky, filled with pure terror and fear as he panted heavily, afraid of being alone and afraid of the lack of understanding at what was happening to him. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as the horrible sensation of his re-shaping limps moved towards his head and jaw, crying out again - but instead of a human cry, it was replaced by a desperate animalistic whine. Terror struck at his heart, as he finally gave into the pain that flooded through his body. He lay back, whining and shaking horribly as his mind fell into darkness, the monster inside him taking over.

After several minutes of lying on his side, breathing heavily, the body of a magnificent powerful wolf stood up from the spot England had been only moments before. It panted heavily, lifting its nose to sniff the air causing small clouds of vapour before it to form. Catching a scent that excited him, it arched up its back and let out a murderous howl.

** Ok that ending was rushed...sorry! If you have any ideas of future plot lines please let me know! If you have any short paragraphs on describing a transformation of a werewolf please send them to me because I could do with some help! Quite obviously, I have no clue on the sensation of turning into a wolf. And I will need a few more transformations in the future so let me know! I will of course credit you in the AN :)**

** So yes! Give me ideas please! And reviews! I shall try and update very soon, so I shall see you then! ^-^**


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